The Lazarus Effect
by GuildedDragonfly
Summary: A series of one-shots showing various ways Sir Leon could have survived the Dragon's flames, some serious… others… not so much.
1. The Obvious

_**Summary: **__A series of one-shots showing various ways Sir Leon could have survived the Dragon's flames, some serious… others… not so much._

_**Rating:**__ T for some violence_

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own anything… obviously_

_**Spoilers: **__This is set after 2x13 although if you've read the summary of the fic it may be too late to warn you of spoilers…_

* * *

_**Chapter 1: The Obvious**_

In a land of myth and a time of magic, there lived a great knight able to defy the laws of death itself… his name… _**Leon...**_

* * *

The fear felt by the men and horses alike was palpable in the cold night air, the nervous steeds whinnying balefully, hot air snorting from their noses. The tight circle of knights waited with apprehension - following the command of their respected leader, Prince Arthur.

Sir Leon peered into the darkness through the visor of his helmet, gripping the reigns of his horse with determination. As he glanced around at his fellow knights, Arthur and his manservant Merlin; he was reminded of the circle of loyalty they had formed when volunteering for the mission. Their current formation mimicked that stance, except now Arthur joined their ranks in the circle, as did the boy Merlin.

Allowing his mind a happy diversion from the hours of waiting for the beast and the cold that seeped through his chainmail, Leon peered thoughtfully at the boy. He had not met a more loyal servant; to follow his master to his almost certain death was a brave, if foolhardy, act indeed – especially attired as he was without the usual precaution of armour. He was not sure what help such a clumsy and awkward boy could be on a battle field but Leon was grateful for any addition to their current defences… the more the merrier as his Father would say.

As his horse let out a fearful nicker, tossing its head to the side and flaring its nostrils madly, Leon was alerted to approaching danger. There on the horizon loomed the fearsome sight of the Great Dragon that had so decimated their castle over the past few days, its immense wings beating rhythmically as it descended rapidly upon them.

"Hold firm!" he heard Arthur yell, donning his own helmet and readying his horse for action. All fifteen of them jostled together, struggling to keep the anxious horses under control.

"Hold!" Arthur yelled again as the Dragon swooped lower across the tops of the trees.

"_Now!_" the Prince cried and at once the knights urged their horses forward to peel off into two groups, a pincer movement to surround the Dragon.

As they charged, the great beast himself landed in the epicentre of the circle created by the knights and turned around sharply, his long tail whipping around as he did so. As the end of his tail sailed through the air it struck Sir Leon with full force, ripping him completely from his horse and sending him plummeting to the ground, the black grip of unconsciousness rushing up the meet him as he hit the hardened grass of the cold field.

The events that followed were a dim haze to the brave young knight as he valiantly struggled to regain a bearing on his surroundings and pull himself out of the pit of darkness that engulfed him. He was vaguely aware of an intense heat to his left, the powerful orange light of the blaze flickering through the closed lids of his eyes.

As he swam in and out of his comatose state, he was sure he heard the voice of Merlin commanding the Dragon into obedience in some ancient tongue.

'_The brain can play some strange tricks on a concussed mind_,' he thought idly to himself as images of an insanely laughing Arthur and the smell of roasting flesh crept into his senses.

"_Cador!"_ he heard a voice cry urgently through the mist of his thoughts and with great effort he turned his head to the side. As his eyes opened a crack he saw his Prince bent over the inert form of Sir Cador. It seemed that he too had been thrown from his horse and escaped the Dragon's flames and Arthur was trying his best to rouse the fallen knight.

"Sire…" croaked Leon as he ran a quick inventory of his limbs and senses to ensure that he was whole and unscathed.

""Leon!" cried the Prince as he ran to his side, "You live!"

"What of the others?" he asked, taking Arthur's proffered hand and raising himself unsteadily into a sitting position and removing the restrictive helmet from his head.

When Arthur did not reply, Leon looked up at him in concern, his eyes following the young Prince's to where Merlin stood, outlined by the light of moon. Heaving himself onto his feet, Leon walked slowly over to Merlin's side and was confronted by the horrific sight of the battlefield and the source of the smell of barbequed meat. The disfigured forms of the remainder of their small band of knights was still smoking gently, their bodies charred beyond recognition, the sinews of their blackened flesh melted together with their useless armour.

"The Dragon?" he asked quietly, the magnitude of their loss slowly sinking in.

"Defeated," replied Arthur, joining him at Merlin's side.

Relief washed over Leon at this news and he breathed a hearty sigh as he released the anxiety that had been his companion these last few days.

"Arthur dealt him a mortal blow," muttered Merlin in a low voice, unable to tear his eyes from the carnage before him.

"Come, we must inform my Father that the danger has passed," declared Arthur, rousing the two men from their thoughts. "Merlin and I will go back to the castle at once and send help to gather the dead; Leon, you remain here and check for more survivors, we shall return shortly."

"Yes Sire," affirmed Leon, his keen eyes scanning the darkened field for any further signs of life. As the Prince and his servant disappeared from view, Leon approached the prone form of Sir Cador once more. It had not taken long to assert that his was the only other body left un-charred in the field and Leon stooped quickly to check that his heart was still beating. Satisfied that his fellow knight was simply unconscious, Leon collapsed wearily onto the ground beside him to await the help promised by Arthur. As he lay beneath the bright moon, he closed his eyes for a well deserved rest… and pondered on the apparent mystery of what happens to a Dragon's body when it is killed…………


	2. The Heatproof Shield

_**2. The Heatproof Shield**_

The afternoon sun shone clearly through the tall windows of the armoury, fine particles of dust reflecting lazily in the bright shaft of light. In the far corner, Merlin crouched low inspecting the swords, breastplates and chainmail that the brave knights would don in just a few moments for their epic confrontation with the Dragon.

A fresh wave of guilt washed through his bones as he thought of these gallant men voluntarily facing their almost certain deaths… all because of him. If only he had been able to see the true nature of the Dragon's heart… or, he thought suddenly, a deep frown creasing his forehead, does that imply the awful truth… that he _had_ known the reptile's heart and had chosen to ignore it... No – he refused to think that that was the case. Besides, there had been no option, Camelot would have been lost if he hadn't sought the Dragon's advice and then he had had no _choice_ but to uphold his promise to release him… hadn't he?

The weight of these contemplations crashed down on the young warlock and he struggled to breath in the stuffy room. He was already blaming himself for the loss if his Father and now this was too much for his troubled heart to take. Scrubbing angrily at the unshed tears that threatened to fall, he focused on the task at hand, he could not worry about such recriminations now… if these knights were to face the Dragon then he would make sure that they had a helping hand. He would not let them face them unprotected… _or alone_, he assured himself – he just hoped he could summon his powers as Dragonlord in time to prevent their deaths.

"_Fȳr__ proba __beschielden__,"_ he muttered under his breath, his eyes glowing bright gold for an instant as these words left his lips.

"Merlin!" came a shout suddenly from the doorway. Startled, Merlin scrambled hurriedly to his feet, knocking over several spears lining the walls in his haste.

"Careful _Merlin,_" chiding Arthur in frustration as he strode into the room, "What on Earth are you doing in here?"

"Um… sorry," he stuttered, frantically trying to right the fallen spears, only succeeding in adding to the chaos, "I was just preparing the, uh… the weapons… for the battle."

"Preparing what?" the prince asked incredulously, "All weapons are readied for use before they are stored away… what else is there you could possibly do… apart from dent them all apparently."

"I was just uh… checking that they were ah… sharp enough?" he proffered, gesturing lamely at the disarray of spears to his left.

"And what exactly were you planning on sharpening them _with?" _demanded Arthur, staring pointedly and Merlin's conspicuously empty hands.

"Ah… good point," replied Merlin with a forced grin that didn't quite meet his eyes, "I'll just go and fetch a whet stone now and-"

"There's no time for that now Merlin, the spears are as sharp as they're going to be," rejoined Arthur with a sigh, "Come on, I need you to dress me in my armour; we must ride out soon."

"Yes Sire," said Merlin quickly, glancing back over his shoulder at the pile of shields stacked neatly in the corner before following his master meekly from the room.

* * *

Fifteen horses tramped the hard ground impatiently as they stood in a close knit circle in battle formation. Their riders: Thirteen brave knights, the Crown Prince and his servant, all shifted uncomfortably in their saddles. They had exhausted the diversions of 'eye-spy' in a few short minutes and were now, several hours later, each trying to ignore the growing need to Urinate. Passing water just wasn't simple when clad head to toe in chainmail sat upon a horse waiting to face almost certain death by Dragon flames…

"I'm just saying," Stated Sir Fergus indignantly, "you could have borrowed some armour from me, I have a perfectly good spare suit lying in my chambers as we speak."

"Well that's hardly very helpful is it Fergus," retorted Sir Driant impatiently, "the lad's already _here_ now! He can hardly nip back for a quick change of clothes!"

"It just makes us _look_ bad that's all!" grumbled Fergus unhappily, "here we are all trussed up in our armour and there's the servant facing a _dragon_ with nothing else to protect him but his neckerchief!"

Merlin said nothing, his eyes continuing to scan the horizon, ignoring the mumblings of the disgruntled knight.

"He has a point Sire," Leon agreed, looking round at the prince, "what say we all chip in and get the boy his own suit, give him a sporting chance?"

"Focus men, _please!" _Arthur exclaimed. "Now is _not_ the time to be discussing Merlin's wardrobe."

"No, we _should_ be discussing why none of you saw fit to bring your shields with you into battle!" cried Merlin suddenly, reiterating a much repeated argument he had already assailed the young knights with throughout the long hot afternoon.

"That's enough Merlin, what armour and weaponry a knight chooses to wear into battle is his own affair," chided Arthur in frustration.

"But that's just my point, why is it such a folly for us not have our shields, when you've not got a scrap of armour to your name!" declared Fergus incredulously.

"I have mine…" muttered Leon in a soft voice, gripping the great studded shield in his left hand.

"Quiet all of you!" demanded Arthur in despair.

In the silence that followed this admonition, the faint sound of wings beating in the night drifted through the air toward them. A sudden ripple of tension spread through the group as each man adjusted his position and readied himself for battle, Arthur holding them steady as the fearsome creature approached.

All at once the beast was upon them and Arthur shouted the command for them to ride out and circle the great Dragon. Two knights were immediately knocked from their horses, the tail of the Dragon sending them flying. A sickening crunch reached the ears of the other riders as their necks were snapped like dry twigs, their bodies rolling lifelessly across the grass.

As the giant reptile spun around in anger, the full force of his fiery discharge hit the flank of the leading horses until all the remaining knights were engulfed in flames. Shrieks of agony were eaten up by the deafening roar of the flames as the men were instantly burned alive inside their own armour, the fat on their bones feeding the flames and causing the inferno to leap greedily into the air.

Knocked bodily from his horse by the force of the heat, Leon fell heavily onto the ground, holding his shield up defensively to ward off the flames. As the first tongues of fire lapped at the bright paint-work of the shield a strange thing happened. Leon could not believe his eyes as he watched the barrage of fire deflect off the shield and arc up harmlessly over his head. He screwed up his eyes against the heat and as the oxygen was slowly burned away around him, the walls of his awareness came crashing in and darkness descended upon him with a dull thud… leaving one lone knight lying in an unconscious heap amid a sea of flames and roasting flesh…


	3. Drop and Roll

_**3. Drop and Roll**_

"Merlin!" called Arthur across the courtyard, waving madly at his manservant to get his attention. "_Mer-lin!"_ he cried again, louder this time and still to no effect. The younger man walked as if in a trance up the stone stairway that led to Gaius's chambers, not even a flicker of recognition on his face that he had heard his name being called.

"Would you like me to run and fetch him Sire?" asked Leon, ever willing to serve the prince.

"No, leave him," Arthur replied, turning away from Merlin's retreating form in annoyance. "He's been like this for hours, it's getting extremely tiresome."

"Since you returned from your quest to find the Dragonlord?"

"Yes," the prince confirmed, walking with Leon toward the waiting group of Knights, "Anyone would think Balinor had been some sort of long lost relative the way he's acting… still no matter, I don't need him till later on to help with my armour – he can have the afternoon to pull himself together."

Leon nodded his agreement as they joined their fellow men-at-arms, their chainmail glinting brightly in the hot summer sun. Before the small band of young men stood Sir Gauter, a much decorated Knight who had long since retired from active duty. His thin and wizened face bore a few silvery battle-scars, his hooded eyes heavy and rheumatic while his hair shone a pure dazzling white.

"Sir Gauter," said Arthur by way of greeting, grasping the older mans right arm in his own, "It is an honour to have you here with us today – I hope that we can learn from your wisdom and experience."

"It has been many years since a Dragon roamed free in the provinces of Camelot," nodded the old Knight, "When I was a mere young squire in service to King Constantine II, not a day would pass without the shadow of a lizard or two crossing your path."

"Indeed… and I know that-"

"Why, just the other day I was saying to Sir Meliot de Logris, Meliot I said – do you remember when Dragon's ran free all over these hills?"

"I'm sure that you have many tales to tell…" began Arthur, trying desperately to interject.

"And _he_ said Gauter old friend – there was none more skilled at battling those reptiles than you-"

"And that is why we have asked you here to train us this morning," interrupted Arthur, again trying to regain control of the conversation.

"…ah yes, but that was many years ago Uther," said the old Knight, jovially patting the young prince on the back.

"Arthur," corrected Arthur.

"What?" asked Gauter, cupping his right ear and leaning towards the prince quizzically.

"Arthur, my name is Arthur – Uther is my father," he repeated loudly, his patience wearing dangerously thin.

"Yes, yes of course… Uther – that's what I said," clucked older man, shaking his head in confusion, "but it has been many years since Dragons roamed the land," he repeated with a smile, as if only now remembering his original line of thought.

"_Yes_ Sir Gauter," agreed the prince through gritted teeth, "I pray you, teach us what you can to aid us in our battles for we are soon running out of time!"

Sir Gauter took in these words and let them seep slowly into his senses, pondering on them and nodding slowly to himself as he filtered through five decades of memories and tactical plans. Eventually a small smile played on his lips and he leaned forward toward the expectant ears of the waiting knights. "Drop and roll," he said simply, tapping one gloved finger against the side of his sizeable nose conspiratorially, as if sharing a great secret.

"Drop and… roll?" repeated the prince with uncertainty, looking desperately at Sir Leon for support.

"Ah… if you could expand on that Sir Gauter?" asked Leon, his eyes flicking quickly from Arthur to the aging knight before him.

Straightening his back, Gauter clasped his hands behind him and threw out his chest as he began strutting up and down before the small gathering with self-importance. "Drop and Roll is a simple and effective technique that allows a man to quickly out manoeuvre the on-coming attack of any Dragon," he began, his eyes boring intently into the faces of each and every man in the circle around him. "Best trick in the book by far if you ask me; spears'll pierce their bellies but you have to dodge the flames first don'tcha know, armour wont help, you as soon as boil alive inside it as anything… drop and roll that's the answer!"

"Perhaps you could explain how best to perform this… technique?" asked Sir Hectimere hesitantly.

"I can do better than that my man, I can show you!" cried Gauter, donning his gauntlets with a flourish. Taking a few paces back he readied himself, testing the ground beneath him and bouncing quickly on the balls of his feet a few times. Satisfied, Gauter took a few small, running steps forward before throwing himself forward onto the ground, landing awkwardly on his side in an ungainly heap of armoured limbs.

The small band of knights looked at one another anxiously, each one not wanting to voice their concerns that their hopes rested on one fossil of a knight who was clearly one arrow short of a quiver, while darkness, and the Dragon, quickly approaching.

"Goodness I… oh dear me…" came the muffled sounds of Sir Gauter, mumbling through the restrictions of his helmet which had fallen across his face on impact with the dirt ground. "If someone would be so kind…?" he asked plaintively.

Sir Damas and Sir Reynold stepped forward and lifted the poor old knight bodily onto his feet, dusting down the aging armour as they did so.

"Yes, yes," said Gauter, shooing the two knights away in embarrassment, "Not quite so agile as I once was I'm afraid Uther," he stating sadly, not noticing the look of frustration that passed across the young princes face, nor the restraining arm of Sir Leon on his shoulder. "Trust me though, it is effective."

"How is _that_ effective?" cried Arthur in disbelief.

"Simply a matter of mathematics Sire," replied Gauter seriously, oblivious to the scathing looks being thrown his way. "When a Dragon breaths its jet of fire, its vision is obscured," he continued, taking a spear from a nearby guard and scratching some markings in the dirt to resemble a large Dragon with fire streaming out of its mouth. "Depending on its size the fire is usually directed at a thirty to forty-five degree angle – if a man employs the drop and roll technique he will avoid the flames _and _mange to position himself out of its vision and in perfect position to attack!"

An awkward silence filled the air as Gauter continued to study the faces of each knight present, perhaps searching for that raptured look of awe in the presence of such amazing genius.

"Thank you Sir Gauter… that is most... insightful," Arthur forced himself to say at last, his heart sinking that their last secret weapon – the arsenal of experience at Gauter's fingertips, had proven so worthless.

Once on the battlefield the knights held themselves steady in a close-knit ring of horses, each one staring grimly at the horizon, psyching himself up for the battle.

"And that was his only advice?" asked Merlin, wide-eyed as he stared disbelievingly at the prince.

"Yes _Merlin_, for the umpteenth time that was all… now can we please concentrate on the mission?"

"Well… its just that um… there's a bit of a massive flaw in that plan," replied the young warlock tentatively.

"Just one?" said Sir Driant scathingly.

"Pray tell us, oh wise Merlin," added Arthur sarcastically, "What is this fatal flaw?"

"Well… we're all on horseback… how do we drop and roll from all the way up here?"

The Knights looked at one another in silence, the pale moonlight glinting dully off the visors if their helmets. As foolish as they had all felt while practicing the drop and roll earlier this thought had never occurred to them…

"Now what?" asked Sir Fergus unhappily.

"We stick to the original plan," Arthur declared firmly, "We charge around the beast and encircle him and once he's surrounded we advance. You have your long spears ready, aim for the belly and hope our horses are nimbler than the Dragon."

As if on queue the cry went up that the Dragon had been sighted and each man readied himself for the attack. Under the command of their fearless leader Prince Arthur, they rode valiantly out to circle the giant reptile.

As the blistering heat of the Dragon's flames began to reign down on them, the futility of their plan became glaringly obvious. One by one the Knights from the head of the charging line and back began to be engulfed in flames.

Sir Leon shouted out loudly into the cold night air, seeing no other option but to try old Gauter's plan, "Now men! Drop and Roll!" he cried, throwing himself bodily from his horse. As he hit the hard ground beneath him he rolled expertly to the right, disappearing into the undergrowth of the forest. With a lurch he realised that the ground had opened up beneath him and all at once he tumbled head first down a short ravine, unable to right himself in his heavy armour as he came to a stop neck deep in mud and filth in the shallows of a murky river.

Arthur and Merlin looked on in horror as the remainder of the Knights ignored Leon's example and rode on regardless – each man meeting a gory end, burnt alive where he sat upon his horse.

With a feeling of dread, the young prince turned to face the great Dragon, knowing that it was now or never. He looked up into the cold amber glow of its reptilian eyes, waiting for the right moment. Just as the beast opened its mouth and the first few sparks of flames began to tumble from his jaws, Arthur suddenly leaped forward, rolling nimbly to one side, desperately clutching at his spear.

To his surprise the young prince was able to right himself with ease and he rose to his feet, spear in hand, a few meters from the beast. Without a moments hesitation he thrust upwards with the spear, piercing deeply into the belly of the Dragon just behind his front left leg. With a roar the creature rose in fury onto its hindquarters, lashing out with its tale and striking Arthur with full force. The prince was thrown bodily up in the air, falling heavily to the Earth with an almighty thump, his still form lying inert on the grass.

At the foot of the ravine, Sir Leon heaved himself upwards with all his might, struggling to keep his head above the surface as more and more water ran into his armour. As his footing slipped repeatedly on the slimy bed of the river, his head sunk once more underwater and for a moment, panic struck the poor knight as he felt his lungs begin to burn from lack of oxygen. The river surged around his head, filling his ears, nose and mouth; the sounds of the forest and his fruitless thrashing of water distorting madly in his mind, the steady roar of the current in his ears sounding strangely like the guttural cry of some ancient tongue.

With one final push Leon managed to drag his water logged body closer to the edge of the stream and clung for a moment to the bank in exhaustion. With much effort he slowly emerged from the river, rivulets of filthy water pouring from his armour as he began the climb up the steep ravine.

Staggering from the tree line, Sir Leon took in the sight of the burning remains of his fellow knights, the happy sight of Arthur and Merlin embracing with joy on the battlefield… and the conspicuous lack of Dragon.

"Sire!" he cried hoarsely as he made is way over to the two young men.

"Sir Leon!" shouted Arthur heartily in response, "You survived? How is that possible, I saw the Dragon's flames eat up the entire charge?"

"I can hardly believe it myself sire," he replied, collapsing in a heap at the prince's feet, "I simply followed Gauter's advice…"

"You don't mean..."

"Yes, I dropped right off my horse and rolled into the forest," Leon confirmed, testing his limbs for breakages amongst his bruising, "Then fell right into a river… did you manage to defeat the beast?"

"Aye," said Merlin, gesturing quickly to his master, "Arthur dealt him a mortal blow!"

"Heavens be praised," declared Leon, sinking down onto the grass in relief, "Tell me Sire, how did you manage it?"

"Um…" began Arthur, scratching the back of his head in bewilderment, "Would you believe… drop and… roll?"

Leon opened his eyes in surprise and looked at the prince in disbelief, "And Merlin?"

"Oh Merlin was no use whatsoever, he just stood there while I leapt into the Dragon's flames," said Arthur dismissively, ignoring the indignant look of fury that passed fleetingly across his manservant's face.

"Well I'll be damned… it seems Gauter is not as foolish as we believed! Two out of three saved by his tactical advice."

"Remind me Sir Leon, to advise my Father to re-instate Gauter as advisor to the throne in the morning," said Arthur thoughtfully.

"Are you sure you want that Uther… I mean _Arthur_?" grinned Merlin sarcastically.

"Hmmm…" replied the prince, visions of hours on the practice field battling with Gauter and his endless anecdotes flashing vividly in front of his eyes, "on second thoughts…"


	4. Life for a Life

_**4. Life for a Life**_

In the grey, early-morning light, the scene of the abandoned battlefield lay still and silent; a few small wisps of smoke curling up from the blackened remains of man and beast alike was all that attested to the violent and bloody events of the night before.

From the edge of the forest two hooded figures immerged from the tree-line and as they cautiously approached the centre of the field they both lowered the hoods of their cloaks, peering around for any signs of life. Long hair tumbled out behind each of them, one dead straight and raven black in colour, the other curled and blond and it was the latter that seemed to command the actions of the two.

"What happened here?" whispered Morgana, her hand covering her mouth in horror at the sight of so many faithful Knights of Camelot lying dead before her. As she looked quickly about her, she breathed a small sigh of relief that Arthur's bold, red Pendragon crest was not among the fallen.

A small smile curled at Morgause's lips as she surveyed the gory scene, "It would appear that old Kilgharrah has finally broken his bonds," she replied, unable to mask the satisfaction in her words.

"Kilgharrah?" queried Morgana, none the wiser.

The blond haired woman nodded casually, "The Great Dragon, the last of his kind in all of Albion… he has long promised to free himself from Uther's chains and seek his revenge-"

"_Dragon?"_ exclaimed the younger woman, "Here in Camelot?"

Morgause turned to her half sister in surprise, "Why yes my dear, the Dragon has lived these past twenty years beneath your very feet in the catacombs of the castle."

Morgana's eyes flew at once to the spires of Camelot that could be seen peeking through the trees, her expression dark and unforgiving, "I wonder…" she began bitterly, "I wonder how many other secrets I was not privy to."

Placing her hand gently on the younger woman's shoulder, Morgause turned her from the castle and stared searchingly into her clear green eyes, "Come Sister… that is the very reason we have returned – for _answers_!"

"Sister…" breathed Morgana, repeating the word with reverence, "It still sounds strange to be so named."

The blond sorceress smiled indulgently and linked their arms together, "But Sister's we are Morgana and we shall have plenty of time to make up for the lost years that were robbed from us…" she said reassuringly, before her features hardened once more, "first however, we must find out more about that upstart of a servant – to poison you was unforgivable… but _how_ did he know doing so would break my enchantment?"

Morgana slowed her steps, dropping her sister's arm and turning pointedly toward her, "You still have not explained _why_ I was the source of your spell in the first place?"

The older woman smiled serenely, carefully tucking a strand of jet black hair behind the other woman's ear as she spoke, "I told you dearest, there simply was no time to explain – the magic you have within you is so strong and with my help and direction we can now draw it out together and I can guide you in the ancient arts…" Morgause took a deep breath, drawing Morgana along beside her as she began to step through the field once more, "However… at the time, the Knights of Medhir were growing restless and I had to act fast.

"There was no time to explain properly – I simply knew that you would support my actions," now Morgause stopped abruptly and turned once more to face the younger seer, placing her palm gently against her cheek, "you had already voiced your loyalty to our cause… is that not so?" she asked, her leading question forcing Morgana to drop her gaze.

"Yes sister…" she mumbled quietly in response.

"And what _I _do not understand," Morgause continued, her own eyes narrowing dangerously, "is why _you_ did not slay Uther while you had the chance? All the people were asleep except you – I gave you ample opportunity to kill the King without even using the knights… why did you not act?"

The memory of standing above the slumbering form of the King flashed before Morgana's eyes. Long before Arthur and Merlin had returned she had crept into Uther's chambers and watched him gently snoring on the floor. She had taken a short sword from the scabbard of his own guard and held it to his throat, pressing the blade against his exposed skin… but still had not been able follow through with the task and had run trembling from the room, cowering like a child behind the curtains of her bedchamber.

Then, once again, when Arthur and Merlin had been trying to find a way to escape the Knights of Medhir she had been handed a sword and left alone with the King, instructed to guard him with her life. The irony of the situation was not lost on her but again did not change the fact that she had failed to carry out the assassination that she had been so adamant that she desired more than anything.

"I had no idea what was happening," she said at last, still unable to meet her sister's serious brown eyes, "I was terrified that I was going to succumb to the sickness at any moment… if you had simply explained your plan I could have been more…_efficient_!"

The hard look in Morgause's eye softened as she saw the despair in the younger woman's face, "Come sister," she said gently, "Let us not argue, we must find a place to shelter until night fall."

The two women continued on together through the field, Morgana turning her face from the gruesome sight of the knights as they walked, until something caught her eye which caused her stomach to clench and her heart to plummet into her knees.

"_Leon!" _she cried out in anguish, dropping her sister's arm and throwing herself to the ground beside his charred remains. Carefully easing the helmet from his head, she recoiled in horror at the ruined vestiges of his fire-twisted features.

"You recognise this man?" Morgause asked incredulously.

"I would know him anywhere," Morgana replied, her voice catching with emotion, "No fire can mask the cut of his jaw… and besides, the emblem of his tunic is singular only to him, he is the last surviving male of his household."

Morgause watched her half sister in fascination, her wide eyes not betraying a hint of emotion, "He meant a great deal to you?" she asked, more a statement than a question.

"He was always so kind to me growing up," she replied, her eyes staring into the middle-distance as she recalled her childhood at the castle, "He often helped me to practice my swordsmanship, even when Uther began to think it unladylike." As she spoke Morgana reached a shaking hand out toward his scorched face, her fingers hovering over the blackened sinews of his features, "Is there nothing we can do?" she asked imploringly, "Can we not restore life to him… just as you did the Knights of Medhir?"

"Impossible I'm afraid, the Knights were re-animated - their spirit was not fully restored to them. Besides," she added, almost as an afterthought, "he is only a man, what use is he to us?"

"What use?" spat Morgana in response, "Do you not care for any but those that possess magic?"

"And what of you sister?" she replied, her voice calm in the face of the outburst, "You only request back the life of this… _Leon_… care you not for the others?"

Morgana's words caught in her throat, her eyes brimming with tears as she stared at the multitude of fallen knights, before resting her eyes on Leon once more, "There are always men that die for the sake of Camelot, it is their duty," she said, sighing heavily, "So many faceless men… yet Leon is different, he has survived so many battles with Arthur I almost thought him indestructible."

"Forgive me Morgana," said Morgause, quietly drawing her sister's eyes to her, "I do not wish to sadden you but this conflict is immaterial… there is nothing we can do here. Life is a precarious balance, to make a life a life must be given in return and that is a sacrifice that I am unwilling to make for this man."

"But this is not a _new_ life," rejoined her sister heatedly, "I am not asking you to _make_ a life, simply restore one! This is an old life that should never have been taken in the first place!"

Morgause inclined her head to one side, staring at Morgana thoughtfully, her words sparking an idea in her mind, "I wonder…" she muttered before standing and stepping back a few paces from Morgana and the still form of Sir Leon. Grasping hold of the necklace that hung about her neck, the blond sorceress whispered a few incomprehensible words and all of a sudden a strong wind whipped itself around her. An instant later she was gone, leaving Morgana staring open mouthed at the spot in which she had just stood.

The raven haired woman barely had time to register that she had been left all alone in the field, before a low groan reached her ears and in a flurry of wind and dust, Morgause stood before her once more. This time however she held in her hand a small heart-shaped crystal that glowed an eerie shade of blue, nestled snugly in a length of deep red velvet.

"Be careful Morgause!" cried Morgana in alarm, "The spirit of Cornelius Segan possesses that stone!"

"No my dear," replied her sister as she softly placed the crystal on the ground between them, "this is the life stone of Hepzibah de Fallum… she was a powerful sorceress, once a priestess of the isle of blessed," as she spoke, Morgause unwrapped the velvet material, careful not to touch the radiating stone itself, "As time passed she became eaten up by a need for power. The high council decreed she must be destroyed but she housed her life force inside this crystal. I discovered it many years ago while exploring the abandoned ruins."

"It looks just like Segan's crystal," affirmed Morgana in amazement, "That stone now rests in a sealed tomb beneath Camelot."

"There are many crystals like this scattered across Albion."

"But I do not understand;" queried Morgana, a puzzled expression marring her pale features, "How will that crystal save Leon? We do not want her spirit _possessing_ him!"

"No sister – think… what is life but ones vital force, an active energy, coupled with ones own body and lifeblood," Morgause paused briefly, searching Morgana's eyes for signs of comprehension, "You spoke wisely when you said that this is no new life, if we can harness the energy inside this crystal – why should one old life not be exchanged for another? _This_ life," she said pointing at the blue stone, "In place of your Knight friend?"

A light gleamed in Morgana's eyes as realisation dawned upon her and she gazed with renewed hope at the small blue crystal.

"A life for a life is an unequivocal balance that transcends the boundaries of flesh and blood," Morgause reiterated as she stretched out her hand toward the stone and began uttering a string of incantations, her eyes glowing a bright golden colour as she did so.

Slowly, the small heart-shaped crystal began to rise into the air, spinning lazily on its own axis. As Morgause's words reached a crescendo the stone began emitting a high pitched drone, its contours shaking and pulsing in mid-air.

The older woman crouched softly next to Morgana, placing her hand inside her sister's as she watched the crystal, her eyes bright with excitement, "See how the spirit of Hepzibah is resisting our intentions," she whispered, nodding her head toward the quaking rock.

Finally, with one last incantation tripping from Morgause's lips, the crystal jolted to a standstill, a brilliant light shining from its centre. As they watched, the light transferred itself to the body of Sir Leon, the force of it causing his blackened skeleton to jerk violently like a discarded marionette doll.

The light from the crystal began to engulf Leon's body and before their eyes they saw the black and charred remains recede and watched the sinews of his flesh wrap itself anew about his whitened bones. Layer after layer of skin enveloped his limbs and new hair began to sprout like fresh grass until Sir Leon was at last whole again, only the scorched metal of his armour a testament to the fact that he had indeed been subjected to the Dragon's flames.

With a soft thud the crystal dropped to the ground, now pure and clear as a diamond, empty of the life force of Hepzibah de Fallum. In perfect synchrony, Leon's chest heaved upward as the first gasping breaths of life shuddered into him.

Drawing Morgana to her feet, Morgause led her quietly to one side, "Come my dear," she whispered with a smile, "let us away before he fully awakes – we do not want anyone to be alerted to your presence here."

Morgana tore her eyes from the newly vitalised form of Leon, who even now was flexing his fingers as he struggled toward consciousness, "Thank you," she murmured tenderly, taking her sister's arm in her own as they melted softly into the shadows of the forest behind them.

No sooner had they disappeared from sight than Leon's eyes snapped open, his heart pounding as images of the battle flashed at speed before his eyes. Checking his body carefully for signs of the burns he could clearly remember searing into him, his eyes widened in surprise to find himself whole and unscathed.

As the brave sir knight jumped to his feet and staggered back toward the castle, he didn't notice the small heart-shaped crystal that he trod into the mud as he went… nor the pair of eyes that quietly watched him from the undergrowth of the forest…


	5. Lest Old Acquaintance Be Forgot

**5. Lest Old Acquaintance Be Forgot**

The glow of the pale moon shone brightly through the high windows of the dormitory, bathing the mishmash of pallets and sleeping bundles in its cold light. Occupying these pallets were the squires of Camelot in varying ages, and even some poorer Knights who had yet to marry, all bunking down together for the night where they could find a space.

In the far corner huddled some of the newer squires, recently promoted from their previous role as page boys. Not long past the age of fourteen, their new duties, in service to the fully fledged Knights in order to learn the ropes, were still proving to be a challenge; each one falling gratefully onto the hard and matted hay of their respective pallets.

"I swear Sir Kay's horse pushes out more muck than any other mount in the stables," grumbled Lavain with an exhausted sigh.

"Muck's the least of _my_ worries," replied Melius with equal dramatics, "I had to follow Sir Ector around all day in the blazing sun throughout his manoeuvres, just to bear his shield for him… and he only used the thing once!"

"How is shield bearing worse than mucking out 'Sir-Craps-A lot' the horse?" exclaimed Lavain indignantly/

"Have you seen the size of that thing?" demanded the young lad, rubbing his shoulders gingerly, "My arms have near been wrenched from their sockets today hefting that shield around!"

"You're a couple of girls, the pair of you," chided Lucan derisively, "Bors has taken it upon himself to test my abilities of endurance and will have me up before dawn tomorrow to swim in the icy lakes of Brentwith until I drop."

"That's _Sir_ Bors to you, you filthy reprobate!" admonished Pelleas, one of the older men soon to earn his position as a Knight, "And you should be grateful that he has taken such an interest in your training."

The younger boys all grumbled amongst themselves at this rebuke and huddled in closer together, lowering their voices mutinously.

"What of you Balin, what is the worst job Sir Bedivere has asked of you?" whispered Melius conspiratorially.

Balin paused for a moment, thinking through the arsenal of tasks he had been burdened with during his short career as squire to the preening Bedivere. "I would say," he began at last, pursing his lips thoughtfully, "That the worst job by far would have to be… warming the seat to his bedchamber pot."

"What is so terrible about that?" asked Lavain in confusion.

Balin leaned forward, looking from one boy to the next before affecting the stricken look of the damned, "He makes me stand next to him and hold up his shirt tales while he does his business."

The small group of boys valiantly tried to muffle their explosive laughter, mindful of not attracting the attention of Pelleas again lest he inform their respective Knights that they were not being worked hard enough.

"Leon, you have yet to speak," urged Lucan, jabbing at his companion's side with his toe, "What duties do you most dread?"

"Oh he won't tell you," Balin cut in scornfully, "Leon's duties are _sacred_ and Sir Caradoc has sworn him to secrecy!"

Leon reddened under the scrutiny of his peers as each exclaimed their disbelief, "Why would they give _any_ important duties to a novice squire with hardly any training?" challenged Melius reproachfully.

"Isn't it obvious?" crowed Balin spitefully, "The magnificent Sir Leon the _Elder_ has evidently pulled some strings."

"Take that back!" seethed Leon with rage, his fists clenched angrily into tight fists, "Any duties I perform are simply because I was assigned to Sir Caradoc who _happens_ to be one of the King's personal guard – I did not _ask_ for extra duties and my Father certainly had nothing to do with it!"

"But you do _have_ special duties?" quizzed Lucan.

""There is nothing _special_ about it," retorted the young squire indignantly, "It simply concerns a task given to Sir Caradoc that I fetch and carry for… that is all."

"You are talking in riddles Leon!" cried Balin accusingly, "If it is not a _special_ task then surely you can tell us all what it is?"

"Leave him alone," said Lavain suddenly, kicking his leg angrily against Balin's pallet, "You are simply envious that he has been given more responsibility than you, you should respect his integrity Balin, not deride him for it."

"Listen to this one," Balin retorted sarcastically, "spouting chapter and verse of the code of chivalry as if he were already a fully fledged Knight of Camelot!"

"Enough, all of you!" shouted Pelleas again, rising up onto his elbow from where he lay in the opposite corner, "You may not be tired but there are others here who have done a real days work and need their rest."

Amid further grumblings of protest from the young squires, a begrudging silence fell among them as one by one they settled down to sleep. Lying stiffly on his pallet, Leon lay there staring sullenly at the high ceiling of the dorm room. How he wished he could share his secret with them, if only to wipe the smug look from Balin's loathsome face… but he would not betray his solemn oath… his hands were tied. One day he would be a Knight of Camelot, no a _Great_ Knight of Camelot and he refused to give up his principles even if he was just a squire.

As the first wisps of dawn began to crawl across the walls of the dormitory, Leon sat up on his pallet, wide eyed and alert. Lucan's bed already lay vacant and Leon shivered involuntarily at the thought of his young friend plunging into the icy depths of Brentwith.

Shoving his head quickly under a cold stream of water from the courtyard fountain, Leon hurried out of the castle grounds, shaking the water from his hair as he went. Early morning mist still hung eerily to the fields and the young squire pulled his tunic tighter around him as he rounded the base of the rock-face that stood as foundation to the grand citadel and castle behind him.

Waiting patiently at the mouth of a large fissure in the rock stood the burley form of Jebediah and his young farm hand Willem. Next to the hulking shepherd was a stout wooden cart on which lay six ewes, all freshly shorn and relieved of their hooves to be boiled for glue.

"There you are boy," called the older man gruffly by way of greeting, "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about us!"

"I would _never_ forsake my duties!" cried Leon indignantly.

"Keep your britches on lad, I was only jesting!" bellowed Jebediah in reply, "Help Willem with that there sheep and I'll bring this one."

Returning the farm hand's impish grin, the two of them half carried half dragged the unwieldy carcass through the entrance of the rock cleft and into the depths of the cavern, pausing to light torches ensconced in the walls as they went. Jebediah brought up the rear, one of the ewes slung easily across his broad shoulders.

At the end of the short passageway a sturdy iron gate barred their way and both parties deposited their burden's before it. Pausing briefly to regain their breath, the trio returned to the surface and repeated the process until all six sheep lay in a small pile in the gloomy cave.

"We shall see you again in three days hence then lad," said Jebediah, his deep voice rebounding off the walls around them.

"That you will sir," agreed Leon, grasping Willem's arm in his right hand by way of farewell before standing respectfully in front of the iron gate.

"Do not trouble yourself young squire," chuckled the shepherd derisively, "I have no desire to know what you have locked up in your precious cave that needs feeding six sheep per half week… so long as his Majesty pays me what I'm owed I'm happy."

With that the two men made their way back out of the cave, leaving Leon by himself in the dank passageway. Ensuring that he was indeed entirely alone, Leon carefully removed the heavy key Sir Caradoc had entrusted him with and inserted it into the mouth of the lock before him. With a small clunk and well-oiled click the iron gate swung easily open and he began his solitary task of transporting the sheep into the main cavern of the catacombs.

With no one to aid him, the ewes were much more cumbersome and it took the boy almost an hour to drag each one down the rough hewn steps in the near darkness, his eyes darting about him furtively each time he approached the rocky outcrop that was the final resting place for the sheep.

As he heaved the last animal into position, his stomach clenched in anticipation of the inevitable feel of rushing air beating around him and the uncanny sound of metal softly clinking above his head. Stumbling back from the offering of livestock, Leon stared up at the fearsome beast that descended upon him, the creature that he had been sent here to feed… and the source of his solemn oath of secrecy. The Great Dragon… the last of its kind in all the known kingdom.

"Mutton again, young squire?" breathed the awesome creature, landing nimbly on top of the exposed protrusion of granite.

"The kitchen sends its apologies, but beef was off the menu," replied Leon, forcing his voice into as close an imitation of confident jest as he could muster.

"Ah… such sharp whit for a small boy!" chuckled the Dragon, his long tongue licking greedily around the six ewes, "Perhaps I should add squire to my diet?" he added with a sinister drawl, bringing his immense head suddenly very close to Leon's

With a start, the boy jumped back in shock against the sheer wall of rock face, cursing his cowardice as the reptile threw back his head in mirth at his panicked reaction.

"Have no fear child," he laughed, his long tail whipping the air playfully behind him, "I am not in the habit of biting the hand that feeds me." As if to illustrate the point the beast grasped one of the sheep between its fearsome teeth and tossed it effortlessly into the air, swallowing it down with barely a crunch of bone before licking his lips in satisfaction.

As the Dragon ate, the young boy's confidence grew once more and he tentatively approached the salivating creature, "Tell me Dragon," he called out inquisitively, "Why have you been… why are you imprisoned here?"

Halting his grisly feast, the Great Dragon turned his head to face the young squire, inclining his head toward him and contemplating his question for a moment, "To serve as an example," he said at last.

"To whom?" Leon asked in surprise, "So few know of your existence!"

"An example to other magical beings," he explained softly, narrowing his eyes as he spoke, "But so few remain in Camelot that even_ that_ seems rather redundant now."

"Then why does he keep you here?"

The Dragon smiled smugly down at him, "Uther had a small window of opportunity to slay me and chose instead to imprison me here," he explained, waving his gnarled claw at the catacombs that housed him, "And now he has no means to destroy me… and he is _afraid!"_

Red hot flames spewed forth from the retiles lips as he spoke these words, engulfing the last few sheep in their fiery tongues. The heavy scent of roasting flesh filled the air and the creatures large amber eyes glowed bright with impassioned fervour.

"I am not afraid of you," said Leon firmly, his small voice carrying softly in the dark cavern.

"Is that so?" questioned the beast sceptically.

"I do not believe you would kill me," he stated firmly.

The Dragon slowly brought his giant head down to Leon's level, drawing close to his wide, innocent eyes, "You are quite correct," he said at last, drawing his lips back into a sinister version of a smile, displaying two rows of formidable teeth, "You have done nothing against me… In fact… far from harming you, I can _help_ you."

"You… help me?" repeated Leon dubiously, eyeing the large chain clamped around the Dragon's ankle.

"I am a magical creature young Squire and there is much that I could offer you," he replied silkily, "For example… I could help you to become the greatest Knight that Camelot has ever seen…. All I require is that you promise me one small thing in return-"

"_No!"_ cried the boy urgently, pressing his hands over his ears, "Sir Caradoc warned me of your sly ways, I shall not be tricked!"

Stumbling headlong into the darkness of the tunnel passageway, Leon cried out loudly to block the Dragon's words from his mind, slamming the iron gate behind him with an almighty crash, twisting the key in the lock in haste and darting hurriedly out into the comforting light of day.

Drawing deep shaky breaths into his burning lungs, Leon turned and headed quickly back toward Camelot, wishing for the umpteenth time that he had been assigned anyone but Caradoc to squire for.

* * *

Chaos reigned in Camelot as the beast that had lain dormant beneath its walls for over twenty years now threw fire and brimstone upon its hapless inhabitants.

After three days of assault and more casualties that he cared to count, Sir Leon, decorated Knight of Camelot, sprinted down the steps from the battlements. As he ran into the castle courtyard he looked up at the retreating Dragon flying off into the sky after his last attack. Merlin stood alone in the centre of the square, head thrown back in fury as he too watched his departure.

"Why are you doing this!" the young servant shouted angrily, "You're killing innocent people!"

Leon ran quickly to his side, dragging the boy along with him and out of the square, "I admire your courage Merlin," he cried earnestly, "But I do not think that the beast will listen to reason! Come… we must shore up the walls while there's still time!"

The days that followed were a blur of panicked activity and bloody carnage as the Dragon continued his assault on the castle walls; man, woman and child alike cowering helplessly inside the failing walls. With their hopes of finding a Dragonlord dashed it was with a pounding but stoic heart that Leon stepped forward to volunteer for the final confrontation, along with twelve other brave Knights, Lucan and Lavain among them.

It wasn't until he was sat upon his charge awaiting the arrival of the beast and contemplating his time served within the Pendragon court that Leon remembered his first conversations with the Dragon. The more he recalled its smug expression and devious eyes the more his anger burned inside his chest.

As the cry went up and the Dragon approached, Sir Leon gripped his reigns in determination, clenching his jaw firmly as he awaited Arthur's command. With a valiant cry the men were dispatched, a solid line of gallant bravery and courage in the face of certain death.

The Dragon shrieked in rage and turned on the Knights, his burning flames eating up the fearless riders. Ripping off his helmet, Leon hurled the metal object at the Dragon. The small missile bounced harmlessly off the thick scales of his hide but the creature paused to see the source of this attack.

"You swore Dragon!" shouted Leon in fury, "You swore you would not kill me! I have done nothing to harm you and neither have the people of Camelot!" With an almighty heave he launched his spear at the reptiles head, again with little effect, "_Why are you doing this?"_ he screamed hoarsely.

The Dragon made no reply, his cold amber eyes betraying no sign of contrition as he contemplated the man before him who had once brought him his food. With an impatient flick of his long bony arm, the beast deftly batted the brave Knight out of his way, knocking him clear off his horse and into the thick underbrush of the forest.

Darkness swallowed him up instantly as fire raged all around him, his unconscious form the only one spared from the heat of the flames - this supposed act of violence becoming the Dragon's only saving grace in a sea of malevolence...


End file.
